


Treasure Maps

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Background Anode/Lug, Background Cygate, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 17:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: A post-LL 25 story (spoilers through the end of Lost Light).Rodimus is fine in his new life aboard the Exitus.  Really.  He's fine.  This is fine.  He's fine.Until, that is, a mysterious missive slipped under his door recalls him to his old life...





	Treasure Maps

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the TF Snapshots Zine! Be sure to check out the rest of the zine - it features lots of amazing artists and writers, and also me. :D

It was strange, Rodimus reflected. He’d been serving on the _Exitus_ for decades, while the quest for the Knights of Cybertron had lasted a few scant years, if that. And yet when he woke after a restless night, his spirits would still droop when he saw pristine bare walls instead of pink, and felt the soft hum of ordinary engines through his berth, rather than the deep, disquieting _thrum _of the quantum variety. The _Lost Light _had been his for such a brief time, and in that time, the ship had almost never held still. Redecorations, bars opening and closing – Pit, bits of it sometimes _vanished. _And yet, it still felt more instinctive, more like home, than the _Exitus, _where everything was reliable and nothing ever changed.

Take right now. The ship was docked at Hedonia for repairs, and most of the crew had been talking about nothing but their upcoming shore leave for weeks now; and yet Rodimus couldn’t bring himself to get excited at the prospect of another holiday on the same old world, alone. Better to stay onboard and work, if he was going to be bored either way. He sighed, and swung his feet off the berth… and then his optic caught on something new.

The familiar shadows of his room were disrupted by a tiny patch of light on the floor. As he neared, he saw that it was a scrap of paper with a message scrawled on it:

_Captain Rodimus -_

Rodimus’s spark suddenly sped up.

_You are needed. Come to the following coordinates at the Hedonia docks in three hours, and you will receive further instructions. You are the only one we can count on._

It wasn’t signed, but when Rodimus turned it over hungrily, there was a symbol on the reverse that nearly made him drop the paper – an unmistakable fragment from the _Lost Light’s _one-time map to Cyberutopia.

***

Luckily, when Rodimus snuck into the corridor, his captain was nowhere to be found. The guards by the shuttle bay threw him a salute, not even questioning his request for a transport. At the helm of the shuttle, Rodimus found himself grinning in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

A mysterious message. A call for help from an old crewmate – after all, the only people who would be able to recreate that map _had _to have been on the _Lost Light. _A chance of genuine danger.

Like pink walls and quantum engines, it felt… _right._

***

In a dim alley by the docks, three shrouded figures were waiting for Rodimus.

“We do not need code names,” said the middle figure, with the air of one who has already made an argument an exhausting number of times.

“But it’ll be fun!” insisted the smallest figure, bouncing slightly. “You could be, um… Lightning-Blade! Or Horned Avenger! Or The Purple Studmuffin!”

“I am begging you never to utter any of those words again.”

“Oooh, I wanna play!” said the tallest figure. “I’ll be something menacing – something that makes you think about rotor blades and knives and tornadoes. Something like… _Whirl._”

There was an awkward pause.

“But you _are _named Whirl,” the smallest figure said diplomatically.

“Whoo-hoo! Thanks, pipsqueak. Oh, and heads up – we got Rodders incoming.”

***

Rodimus stood in the shimmering light of Hedonia and slipped a pair dark lenses over his optics. Brainstorm had sworn, years ago, that they reduced optic damage caused by too-intense planetside light, but Rodimus freely admitted that he kept them mainly because they looked so cool.

Abruptly, he was jostled from behind. “Hey!”

“Pardon me,” said a hooded figure, brushing past him. It might have been because Rodimus was already on high alert, but the voice sounded… familiar.

Another jostle, this time from the other direction. “_Hey!”_

“Watch where you’re walking, there, Flames!” This time, the voice _definitely _rang a bell.

Rodimus was distracted enough that he almost didn’t register when a third body bumped into him, this time around waist height. He did feel it, though, when a scrap of paper was shoved into his hand. He glanced around wildly, only to watch a cloak vanish into the crowd.

The paper had another fragment of the map – one that would fit against the first if they were laid side by side – and a new set of coordinates. _The beachfront, twenty minutes._

***

The second set of coordinates took Rodimus to the beach, the paper still held in his hand.

He’d thought he knew the beaches of Hedonia pretty well by now, but this stretch was new to him. More shaded than the popular spots, but pretty, he had to admit. It had the advantage of being deserted, too. Or so Rodimus thought until an entire biplane careened out of the sky and dove right at his head.

“Frag! What –”

“_Gotcha!_”

As soon as Rodimus stumbled back to avoid the plane, the sand by his feet _erupted, _spraying wet earth up to his chest and making his engines cough. A minibot burst from a concealed den in the ground and leapt up. Before he could react, she’d snatched the note and lifted her other arm in perfect time for the plane to snag her, lifting her up and out of reach. The words, “See ya, Rodders!” came drifting back to him over the roar of aircraft engines, as Rodimus stood gaping after them.

“_Lug?_” he managed weakly.

An object floated gently down from the plane’s wake. It turned out to be a parachute, with a set of coordinates tied to the strings.

***

The final coordinates turned out to be just along the empty beach. A stand of trees half-hid a bamboo structure, that, on drawing closer, Rodimus could see was a bar, with shelves of brightly-coloured bottles, a handful of tables, and even a dance floor.

The whole place was as deserted as the beach. “Hello?” Rodimus called.

A white-and-red minibot suddenly popped up from behind the bar. “So, it is you finally who I meet at last I presume Captain!”

Rodimus stared.

“Crap,” said Swerve after a moment. “And after all that practice. Could you – look, could you come in again?”

“No, he can’t,” said a muffled voice from around floor level, out of sight behind the bar. “Chromedome’s been standing on my antenna for half an hour, we’re not doing this _longer._”

“Besides, Rodimus is finally exactly where he needs to be.”

Rodimus jumped, then spun to meet a familiar smile behind him. Drift had always been one of the few people who could sneak up on him.

Drift leaned in, intent – watching the colours of his optics, Rodimus realised. Whatever he saw must have reassured him, because he grinned wider, and wrapped his arms around Rodimus. “I told you I’d find you. And you know who else came to get you?”

“Who?” Rodimus whispered, dazed.

“_Everyone._”

And at that, they unfolded themselves from behind the bar: Cyclonus and Tailgate, Anode and Lug, Velocity, Nautica, First Aid, Riptide, Brainstorm, Perceptor, Whirl (rubbing his antenna) and Chromedome (cradling Rewind and looking vaguely contrite). Last came the tidy figure of Minimus Ambus, somehow still dignified, in spite of the –

“What are you _wearing, _Mims?” Rodimus whooped delightedly. It wasn’t the thing he’d planned to say if he ever saw Minimus again, but he couldn’t restrain himself.

“It is a shirt from Earth’s Hawaiian region, and I am told it is appropriate to our surroundings,” Minimus said stiffly, but his lips were very slightly curved upwards.

Swerve – who’d also adopted Earth garb, Rodimus noticed, in the form of a garland of plastic flowers – pressed an engex cocktail into Rodimus’s hand. “Welcome to _Swerve’s: Hedonia_, by the way. It’s not much of a location, but you’ve got to start over somewhere.”

Rodimus tried to smile, but something was nagging at him. “Why all the subterfuge?”

“We were afraid you wouldn’t come otherwise,” Drift said, with an honesty that stung.

Rodimus ducked his head. “You said you needed me.”

“We do.” At the touch of Drift’s hand on his shoulder, Rodimus looked up. “We just don’t need you to do anything, or be anything different. We need _you._ Here, with us.”

Even though the light was starting to leak a bit at the corners of his optics, Rodimus could see that every single one of them was smiling at him – some hesitant and hopeful, others beaming. His crew.

“I’m here,” he managed, the smile breaking through, and a knot in his chest loosened as they cheered.

Drift strode off briskly and pulled a cherry-red board from behind the bar. “Now. Ever been surfing in water, instead of space?”

“You’re kidding. How does that even work? Never mind, doesn’t matter.” Rodimus took a sip of his drink, then handed it off to Swerve. “Bet I can ride the fastest water this planet’s got!”

“That doesn’t make any -” Perceptor started to shout after him, but it was too late: Rodimus was already racing Drift down the beach.


End file.
